If tomorrow never comes
by UnderxConstruction
Summary: Based on several moments from season 3, all mixed and with a different twist. Because we know on the show Mac chose Peyton, but what if he didn't? Smacked. I own nothing


**Hey everybody, just a piece of fluff that came to me I still don't know how… I think it's cute, but it's nothing special. The characters are OOC, but I just couldn't bring myself to write some drama. I just couldn't. Mac and Stella already had too much drama in their lives.**

**Enough. Enjoy and, please, let me know what you think.**

Stella sighed loudly, running a hand through her thick brown curls as she wandered around the deserted Lab. How sad was it that she was still there, after almost ten hours straight of work? Granted, she wasn't exactly doing anything productive, but the point was, she wasn't home either. And why should she be? For the last three years, she had spent that particular night of November with Mac, and suddenly she wasn't.

Because you're supposed to spend your birthday with your girlfriend, right? And that leaves your best friend… out. Just out.

Honestly, he could do _so_ much better. The Peyton chick was such an exhibitionist; everybody in the Lab that day had witnessed the Boss unwrapping his gift. He had been as red as a tomato, clearly expecting something _personal_, but upon his girlfriend's insistence, he had given in and gotten a stupid turtleneck.

Stella scoffed. Everybody knew Mac _never_ wore turtlenecks. It was a _fact_. Which Peyton clearly had ignored, and she'd also had the audacity to ask Mac to wear the hideous thing right _then_! Of course, with the usual luck, he had received a call out just then. No time to change clothes.

Begrudgingly, she had to admit that the hideous piece of fabric set off her partner's broad shoulders quite well. She huffed. Another reminded of what she couldn't have.

_And probably will never have…_, the Greek woman told herself bitterly.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. She could have sworn she had heard something, a faint… whisper? She looked around. Her feet had dragged her exactly in front of Mac's office. _It figures, of all the places…_ Shaking her head, she made to move past the glass doors when she felt someone grab her from behind. Before she had a chance to scream, a large hand positioned itself in front of her mouth, preventing any sound from escaping her lips.

-Stella…-, someone whispered in her ear as she made contact with a hard chest. Blinking, she realized she _knew_ both chest _and_ voice.

-Mac!-, she exclaimed, turning around, still in _his_ arms, to face him. –What…?-

-Shh…-, he whispered, placing a finger in front of his lips. –Is everybody gone?-, he wondered, peeking above the back couch from his crouched position. _Their _crouched position.

-What the hell, Mac? What's…?-, the woman couldn't even finish her sentence, she could perceive the tension in Mac's body as he lightly gripped her left shoulder. –Yes, it's just you and me here. -, she told him, and she found a guilty pleasure in the truth of her words. The former Marine nodded, satisfied, and helped his colleague to her feet. He smiled.

-Good. I was… sort of hoping to catch you before you left. -, he admitted sheepishly, and by the tone of his voice and the slight crinkle of his eyes, Stella was pretty sure he was having a "guilty pleasure moment" himself.

-Well, you did catch me. -, Stella replied with a bit of sass, almost flirtatiously, causing Mac to faintly blush. Good, a little payback for scaring her like that. –So? Where's the fire?-, she teased him again once it became apparent he wasn't going to start talking anytime soon.

-Uhm, actually I'm… I'm avoiding Peyton. -, he confessed. Happy as she was, his partner couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in question at his words. Mac quirked one of his in response, briefly glancing down at his chest, still covered by the _purple_ turtleneck. _Is this reason not sufficient enough?_

-Okay, okay. -, she gave in, waving her hand dismissively at his puppy dog eyes. –Exactly where do I come into play?-, she wondered then, the right corner of her mouth curled up in amusement. Mac sighed, suddenly tired, exhausted, fed up with the world.

-I just want a quiet evening. I was hoping you could give me that. -, he stated seriously, emphasizing the pronoun by gazing directly in Stella's eyes. _Oh._

_Oh!_

-Of course, Mac. I'd be honored. -, she replied with a sweet smile, enveloping his warm, tired body with her arms. _I'm honored you chose to ditch your girlfriend on your birthday night to spend it with me instead. I'm honored that instead of hiding in the loneliness of your house, you found the courage to come to me. I'm honored to be the person you think about when you want peace, quietness, friendliness… _

-You eaten?-, he mumbled in her curls. Realizing she should probably let go of him, she reluctantly did so, but with a smile on her face nonetheless. _Because you're coming home with _me. _Not her_.

-No. Since it's your birthday, I'll let you choose what we're gonna have at _my_ place-, she declared with an air of finality about it. Mac chuckled.

-I'm definitely not arguing with that. -, he replied easily, slipping an arm around her waist as he led her towards the elevators.

She swiftly let the both of them in, closing the door behind her shoulders with a click. Mac helped her with her coat and, as she hung it, he did the same with his own; it was a well practices routine.

-So, have you decided on the menu?-, the curly haired woman wondered, going straight to the kitchen to check the choice of drinks in her fridge.

-One moment, Stell. -, Mac called back. Imagine the woman's surprise when she found him undressing in the middle of her living room; not that she minded, but a former Marine offering her a tantalizing view of his well trained physique was still _unusual._ He disposed of the much hated (from both parts) turtleneck with a grunt, glaring at the mess it made on the floor as if it could spontaneously combust. _Not gonna happen._

-Do you, uh… want a shirt or something?-, she offered. Startled, the Marine glanced at her, then at his naked chest, as if realizing for her first time that he was indeed _naked._

-Yeah, that would be most appreciated. -, he managed to say with a straight face. _Nice move, get undressed at Stella's!_

She found him one of her largest T-shirts, one she used to sleep in, _and that now will smell just like him!_, and he swiftly threw it on, shivering for the cold as goose bumps dotted his skin. It _was_ November in New York, after all.

-Okay, now I'm ready to talk about food. Pass me your phone, please. -, he let her know, reaching for the phone. She handed it to him with an eyebrow raised in question, but the man just smiled, obviously asking her to trust him. She shrugged, motioning for him to go ahead.

He ordered Greek. And _because he was in the mood_, ice-cream. A whole cake, actually, made of ice-cream, chocolate, raspberry and vanilla.

-Mac! You ordered _my_ favorites. This is supposed to be _your_ birthday!-, Stella gently scolded him, recuperating her phone from his fingers. He shrugged, flopping on the couch unceremoniously.

-Exactly. _I_ chose to have your favorites. -, he settled the matter. His partner glared at him, but they both knew she didn't mean anything by it.

They kept quiet for a while, until Mac piped up once again. –Stella, can I… can I hug you?-, he asked out of the blue. Before the woman had a chance to protest, he added: -It is quite cold. -, brushing his bare arms for show. Grinning, Stella moved on the sofa to her boss's side, nestling comfortably in his waiting arms, which he crossed in front of her body. She sighed in contentment; she had to admit he did still have the goose bumps.

-You can hug me whenever you feel like it, not just when you're cold, you know that, right?-, she asked rhetorically, searching the perfect spot where to place her head. She settled for the crook of Mac's neck.

-I know. I… it will probably sound absurd, but I think I really needed some normal human contact. -, he whispered in her curls, ashamed of his words and fearing what her reaction would be. He'd just had the inexplicable need to explain himself to her, to give her a glimpse of what he had been through lately. As predicted, she was surprised, but did not retreat from her position in his arms.

-Okay, you lost me. Don't you… have a girlfriend, for that?-, she wondered. She heard him snort.

-That's _clinging_, Stella. -, he bit back sourly. Clearly, he was a _tad_ annoyed with his girlfriend. _And willing to spend the night in another woman's arms._ Stella shifted slightly, so that she was now partly facing Mac; she sneaked an arm around his torso, bringing their bodies closer than before.

-Have you ever dumped someone, Stell?-, the former Marine wondered suddenly, shocking the Greek woman, whose eyes widened almost to the size of a tennis ball.

-I… yes, it happened. -, she managed to answer.

-And how did that go?-, Mac wanted to know. Stella shrugged.

-Well, when you dump a jerk, at first it's greatly satisfying. You scold yourself for having been losing your time with a loser _after_, but it's nothing major. When it's someone you care about, though… it's harder. -, she explained. She felt Mac nodding against her head.

-What's this all about, Mac? Why are you really here?-, she asked, hoping to get an honest response from the man. He sighed.

-You know, before Peyton I had already figured that if I was to have another chance at a relationship, it would be with a woman I met inside the Crime Lab. I mean, I don't exactly have a bubbly social life, and that way we would have similar working hours…-

-That's a fat lie, Mac Taylor. No one works as many hours as you do. -, Stella giggled, hoping the sound would mask that of the beating of her heart. What was he saying?

-On the paper, Peyton and I are perfect. She just isn't what I was expecting. -, he finally confessed. –I mean, she wanted to take me to the opera tonight. The opera, Stella!-

-I'm sure you'd have been rewarded afterwards. -, the words left Stella's mouth before she realized to whom she had spoken them to. Once she did, she was already a glowing red. Mac groaned.

-With my luck, I'd have been called out on a case before I'd have had the chance to collect. But that's beside the point. -, he replied gruffly, shifting under her slim body.

-So, what is the point?-, she pressed him. She _knew_ they were getting somewhere with that conversation.

-The point is, we are two strangers sharing the same bed. She wants me to be someone I am not, just like I do with her. It isn't satisfying, nor healthy. -, the crudity of his confession threw Stella a little. It wasn't Mac's style, to be so open and blunt… well, on the rare occasions when he talked openly with her, he always knew how to get his point across, but that time was different. His relationship with Peyton must have been the second most personal topic after Claire, for him. And it wasn't like it was common for them to publicize their relationships; it was always a question of looks, smiles and innuendos, nothing that… complex.

-Then why…?-, again, her mouth opened before her brain had a chance to decide whether or not it was wise to speak. At any rate, she stopped before the question was out in the open. She should have guessed he would know what she was going to ask.

-Why I decided to give it a shot? I'm not an animal, Stell, but I'm no saint either. And for the love of God, I have very little patience! After the sixth time she tried to ask me out, I gave in. -, he huffed, disentangling from under Stella's body to get the door. It was the delivery boy with their Greek food. Good, he needed a good excuse to cut their conversation. It was getting too much to handle. He had already revealed entirely too much.

Meanwhile, Stella used the opportunity to slip into her bedroom, where she retrieved her gift for Mac. Maybe, just maybe, she still had a chance…

Dinner was a noisy affair. They talked, laughed, said bad things about attorneys, Sinclair, _MEs_, even Danny and Don (not Lindsay, she was too much of a good person to do that), and when the cake arrived, they sang. It was too much cake, but they ate it with gusto along with a glass of white wine.

-You can open your present now. -, Stella encouraged her guest, pushing the tiny package into his strong hands. As she retreated, she couldn't help herself and lightly brushed the back of his hand. He smiled, avoiding her eyes.

-Stella, I tell you every year, you don't have to get me anything. -, he gave her the well practiced speech, but from the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light of the living room, Stella knew she had made the right decision. The package was small, hand-wrapped, not flashy and shared in the privacy of her home; everything Peyton's gift had been not, and everything Mac felt he could, should, receive.

-And every year I repeat that I want to. You're my closest friend, what person would I be if I didn't get you anything for your birthday? Open it, now. -, she replied easily, bending forward to peck Mac's cheek. He nodded, starting working on his gift. Upon tearing the paper, he discovered a blue box. He raised a skeptical brow, questioning his partner.

-Okay, since we're into confessions tonight, I'll make one of my own: I may have gone a bit over the top this year, since I knew I'd have had competition. I… didn't want to disappoint you. -, she said earnestly, a bit embarrassed by her admission. She was in between surprised and ashamed when Mac started laughing.

-Have you seen what _she_'d gotten me? Please, it couldn't have been worse, coming from you. -, the former Marine reassured his partner, squeezing her shoulder in understanding. Breathing a sigh of relief, Stella nodded to him to finish opening his gift.

He accomplished the task, revealing a simple golden cross roughly half the size of his thumb. He fingered the fine piece of goldsmith's art, and in that moment, he loved his partner even more. Pity she mistook his stunned silence for something else.

-You don't like it?-, she ventured asking.

-I don't… Stella, I love it! Thank you. So much…-, he replied immediately, enveloping his long time friend in a bear hug, gently swaying their joined bodies to the left, to the right, to the left…

-I knew for sure you had a gold chain somewhere; I would have bought it myself, but to be entirely truthful, I couldn't really afford it. I know it's not exactly your style, but I saw the holy picture in your wallet, and it seemed so old, I thought maybe it had some sort of significance for you…-, the curly haired woman rambled, seemingly without even stopping to take a breath.

-Shh, Stella, I said I love it. -, Mac whispered in her ear, running a hand through her silky curls in a comforting gesture. –This is the best birthday gift ever. Wanna know why?, he continued, getting a nod in response. –Because the holy picture you saw in my wallet is a gift, too. My father gave it to me the day I left to join the Marines. It's special, Stell, just like your gift. –

They cuddled for a while, until Mac's phone buzzed in the pocket of his slacks. He knew who it was before he looked at the ID caller; he groaned. Stella knew as well who it was; her heart sank.

-If you have to go, it's okay. It's still early enough…-, she offered kindly, while in truth she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night exactly where she was, in Mac's arms, where she could pretend he did not have a girlfriend who wasn't her.

-Damn it, I just want a moment of peace, is it too much to ask?-, he growled angrily, unceremoniously slamming his phone down on the coffee table in front of the couch. It didn't escape Stella's notice that he had failed to answer Peyton's message. When he rose to his feet, though, she feared for a moment that he would actually go.

He _did_ go somewhere, but it was to retrieve their glasses, the bottle of wine, still more than half full, and the cake. No plates, just their forks. –I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. The rest of the world deal with it. -, he proclaimed stubbornly, pouring them both a glass of wine.

Giggling at some pleasantry Mac had just shared with her, Stella rolled on top of him, trying to reach her glass on the coffee table. Too much alcohol, though, made her usually graceful moves clumsy, and the former Marine felt her slipping away from him. Instinctively, his arms around her tightened, but her weight was too overbalanced: they tumbled to the floor in a mass of tangled limbs. Their laughter renewed, and doubled.

-Oh, Christ. Stella, are you okay?-, the dark haired man wondered, rolling away from Stella, her body still shaking with laughter.

-Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. -, she slurred, pushing herself awkwardly back on top of the sofa. Mac did the same, propping himself against the coffee table, and in doing so, his fingers came in contact with his forgotten phone. He pocketed it.

-Mac?-, Stella called him after a minute of silence, during which he appeared to be lost in thoughts.

-I think maybe it's time we go to bed. -, he finally said. His partner giggled.

-Are you tryin' to make a move on me, Taylor?-, she sassed, holding her aching stomach. Mac rolled his eyes.

-No, silly, but it's late and tomorrow we have to work. Come on. -, he replied rather seriously for the hour, and the amount of alcohol in his system, helping the woman to her feet.

-And what gives you the right to crash in _my_ bed?-, she wondered stubbornly, stopping dead in her tracks before him in front of her bedroom.

-Stell, come on, I'm half drunk, tomorrow I'll have one hell of an hangover. Spare me at last an aching neck. I'm the birthday boy, after all. -, he reasoned, coming to stand behind her, close, oh so deliciously close, the front of his body pressed tightly against the back of the woman's, hands placed on both her upper arms.

-Mmm'kay. -, she gave in, intertwining her fingers with the man's to draw him into her chamber. Without bothering with their clothes, they both crashed on the mattress, curling up against one other; they were out within minutes.

Alcohol or not, his body couldn't break the habit. By five o'clock, Mac Taylor was awake. Awake, and with a Greek goddess in his arms.

_What…? Oh, right. Birthday._

He grunted, rolling onto his stomach and stretching slightly. He had no intention of leaving that warm cocoon, and that meant not waking Stella up. He had no idea when he would be able to do something like that again, so… quiet. And still.

Usually, he had no problem with the still part. That morning, though, something hard pressing painfully against his hipbone prevented him from relaxing back to sleep. Reaching for it slowly, he retrieved his phone. He scowled at it. His scowl deepened when, out of habit, he checked it for messages. Two SMS missed, four calles. All from Peyton.

He sighed quietly to himself, glancing at Stella's sleeping form. He was supposed to wake to _that_, not to some hysterical British chick who wanted nothing more that to show him off to the world just because he was the _Boss_.

Quickly making up his mind, before he could chicken out, he answered to the last of Peyton's messages.

**I'm dumping you. Sorry. Bye.**

-We've been really lucky, Mac, I tell you. Two bottles of wine and no hangover in the morning?-, Stella joked as Mac parked the car next to their newest crime scene, Flack already waiting for them, notepad in his hands.

-So this time there will be no complaining about too many calories?-, he joked back. Stella couldn't help but notice he was in a really good mood. Sure, he had been when they had woken up, so much that he had insisted for having some of the remnants of the cake of the day before for breakfast; after that he had rushed home to change. She would have figured they would never mention the "incident" again, but she had been pleasantly surprised. He must have been in serious need of a normal night out with his best mate.

-Not from me, anyway. -, she quipped before they stepped up to Flack. –Hey, Don. -, she greeted him.

-Stella. Mac. Where did you leave that beautiful turtleneck o' yours?-, the tall Detective made fun of the older one. Mac simply shrugged his shoulders.

-It's on his way to be burnt. -, he replied. Both Stella and Don looked startled at the comment, giving him perplexed looks. –Peyton is going back to London. -, he added, almost as an afterthought.

-I'm sorry, man. -, Don offered sincerely, patting his friend on the shoulder. Again, the older man shrugged.

-So, what have we got?-, he asked in his usual businesslike tone. Respecting his wish for a low profile, Don turned around, ready to recount to the two Detectives what he had discovered so far. Stella exploited the little moment of privacy to throw Mac an inquisitive and rather piercing look.

-_Lunch._ -, he mouthed before getting back to work, the Greek woman following him suit.

As they should have expected, lunch turned into dinner, the case keeping them occupied for the better part of that second of November. She had almost expected him to cancel on her, or forget, or run away altogether from the Lab. There was no way one man could endure that many pity looks during one single day. Apparently, everybody knew Peyton was leaving New York, and Mac along with the city. He kept shrugging it all off, as his usual.

So, when _he_ came to find her in her office at the end of the day, Stella was positively surprised. This time is was surprisingly difficult. Maybe because the man's hearth had not really been in it since the very beginning?

-Sorry for lunch today, Stella. -, he said as a way of greeting her.

-Hey, don't worry about it. We work the same shift, remember?-, she quickly reassured him with a smile, glad he had decided to look for her.

-Yeah, we do. -, he murmured. –Think we can reschedule it for, like, now? Dinner? My place?-, he asked with a sheepish grin, much like the one he had worn the day before in a similar situation.

-Sure, I'd like that. You gonna cook?-, she replied, a bit uneasy. After all, that had been the routine when Claire had passed away: he'd wallow at his place, and she would come and make sure he ate and slept properly.

-Yes. And you're gonna eat it. -, he proclaimed with a self-assured smile. Maybe, though, it would not be so bad that time, Stella mused as she got up from her desk, following the man out of her office.

-Mac, where in the world did you get fresh vegetables? You never have time to go shopping. -, Stella marveled at the selection of fresh vegetables in front of her: zucchini, onions, green and red peppers, aubergine…

-My neighbor has a nephew who owns a greenhouse. Sometimes he passes by and usually ends up bringing his grandmother too much vegetables. I think everybody in this building has an idea how many times I go shopping, so she always shares. -, he explained with a smile on his face, securing an apron around Stella's waist.

-Wait, I thought you said you were gonna cook?-, she asked, puzzled.

-Yeah, but you're helping. Cut the vegetables in slices of about half an inch of width, I'm gonna grill them. -, he replied, delighted to see the bright smile on his partner's face.

-I love grilled vegetables!-, she exclaimed.

-I know. It was the only way you would have your vegetables when Claire and I invited you over. -, he commented with a small smile, shocking Stella into silence. He very seldom mentioned the name of his late wife, especially when he had no reason to do so. _This must be big_, the curly haired woman thought to herself.

-Now we put salt on them, so that they release part of their water…-, Mac told her, getting the first cut vegetables from her hands and disposing them on a plate.

-Why?-, his partner wondered, watching closely as he put salt on them like he had said. Mac smiled. Always so curious about everything.

-Less smoke, less smell. -, he quickly explained, signaling for her to get a move on the other vegetables by means of patting her side jokingly.

They ended up having steaks with their beloved veggies, and Stella wondered where he had been hiding his skills as a cook for all those years she had known him.

-Only the best for the best of guests. -, Mac grinned, offering her a seat with a flourish.

-Okay, Mac, you're seriously scaring me now. Are you okay? What happened with Peyton?-, Stella gave vent to her repressed curiosity. She couldn't for the life of her explain her best friend's good mood; it was just too unusual, especially after having broken off a relationship.

-I'm okay, Stell, really. Everybody should mind their own business; it was me who dumped Peyton. -, he clarified, cutting the tender steak for the woman before serving it to her.

-What? Why?-, she cried indignantly. _Here goes nothing._

-Stell, after yesterday, after I got a taste of what it could be like… I can't go back. Life has taught me something, that we should make the most of our time on this earth. I wasn't doing that with Peyton. -, he explained, his confession simple and…

…_so full of hope… Mac, don't make me…_

The former Marine mistook the pain depicted on Stella's face for guilt. –Stella, listen to me: I was already thinking about ending things with her. You just helped me open my eyes. -, he assured the woman.

-Open your eyes to what?-, she asked. _Please, tell me…_

-To other… possibilities. I want the trust, Stell, the support, the friendship, the _companionship_; I want laughs, and sorrows, and all there is between. I want a family which could comprehend all those dear to me. Most of all, though, I want to be myself. I couldn't with Peyton. -, he spoke in a low, intimate tone, fixing his gaze on Stella's.

_You can with me._

-I can with you. -, he murmured huskily, placing himself behind the woman's chair, squatting so that he was almost at eyelevel with her. –Can you?-, he wondered.

-Can I what?-, she was lost, with him so close to her. He had never been so much within her reach, she thought she was going to explode.

-Can you be yourself with me?-, he repeated, stroking her shoulder.

-Not completely. -, she answered truthfully. Mac almost panicked. _No?_

-No, I… there's something I've never dared doing around you, but which I'd like so much it hurts…-, she said, lowering her head to Mac's, eyes exploring his mouth daringly. It stretched into a smile. He had a faint idea where that conversation was going…

-You know you can do anything around me. Except taking a bullet for me. That I really can't have you do. -, he whispered back, eyes darting from Stella's eyes to her lips. She grinned.

-Everything? Even… kiss you?-, she breathed, stretching her leg to pivot around the other so as to come to a somewhat standing position. She pushed him backwards, his back connecting with the pavement with a soft _THUD_, and straddled his lap. His arms automatically came to circle her slender waist.

-Especially kiss me. -, he grinned up at her, rolling them so that he was on top. He plunged deeply into her curls, kissing her neck like there was no tomorrow, Stella laughing like mad.

Hopefully, tomorrow would come.

_The end_


End file.
